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35 years prior to our photo shoot at the Los Angeles Coliseum, the AMX/3 posed in front of the original Coliseum in Rome. Both are appropriate venues for an Italo-American machine with athletic capabilities and gold medal dreams.

Lamborghini started it. Blame Ferruccio and the boys in Sant’Agata for launching the whole mid-engine, hyperexotic road-car thing. Sure, lots of race cars carried their powerplants amidships, but the debut of the outrageous Miura nearly 40 years ago made sports-car types breathe heavy and sent carmakers–GM, Ford, and AMC, among them–scrambling to respond.

Who? Say again?

True. American Motors Corporation, the often conservative, occasionally quirky, and always underfunded spawning ground of Gremlins and Pacers, Marlins and Matadors, got a little crazy in the late 1960s. Its most tantalizing performance offering? The original AMX, a tight, two-seat sports/musclecar in the best tradition of the 1965-1966 Shelby GT 350.

Each of the above noted domestic car companies pursued a different path toward a mid-engine dream machine. Chevrolet wowed us with numerous mid-engine Corvette proposals–none of which ever saw the production light of day. Ford got involved with De Tomaso, first by providing powerplants for the Vallelunga and the Mangusta, later by buying the company–including the development and distribution of the Pantera, sold here from 1971 to 1974. More about that later.

AMC began dabbling with the notion of a mid-engine car with the AMX/2 concept of 1968. Richard Teague, who ran AMC’s styling studios from 1961 until his retirement in 1986, led the design direction. Teague and company’s concept, though attractive, never made it past the fiberglass model stage. Company execs persevered and staged a competition between Teague’s studio and Giorgetto Giugiaro. Although the latter proved himself a master at mid-engine supercar design (De Tomaso Mangusta, Maserati Bora and Merak, and later the Lotus Esprit), the in-house concept won out. Staff designers Bob Nixon, Vince Geraci, and Chuck Mashigan worked with Teague on all the AMX projects. The result of their work–done mostly in secret–was dubbed AMX/3.

One glance at these photographs shows that the car was a stunner–then and now. Designed in late 1968 and much of 1969, its superb proportions complement an interesting mix of curved shapes and lots of surface detail. It’s a much more voluptuous car than the rival Pantera, although which is more attractive is a question of personal taste. The 3’s most engaging features are the “S” line that runs down the side of the car and the rear-hinged deck that incorporates louvers and the rearmost of two back windows. A pop-up spoiler, which in theory raised at speed much like that on a Porsche Boxster, was mounted at the trailing edge of the rear deck. The car’s window shapes are pure, the prow aggressive. No doubt about it: The AMX/3 stands as the undisputed magnum opus of Dick Teague’s distinguished, near-40-year career in automotive design.

Like the Pantera, the AMX/3 was an Italo-American hybrid. Giotto Bizzarrini sheparded the chassis development work and the construction of the first six prototypes in Turin. Having been involved in numerous Ferrari and Iso designs, not to mention cars he built and sold under his own name, Bizzarrini certainly qualified for the job. The AMX/3 chassis was a semi-monocoque design rendered in steel, as were the body panels. All the underpinnings were standard Italian fare for the day: upper and lower wishbone suspension front and rear, Teves four-wheel power disc brakes, Campagnolo alloy wheels, and a front-mounted radiator and cooling fans.

The transaxle, however, was purpose-designed and built by Italian gear-maker OTO-Melara. Its four forward ratios might’ve seemed a handicap in an environment already populated by five-speeds. But the big-inch lump of American iron, the 390-cubic-inch AMC V-8 (the company’s best at the time), mounted to it had enough torque–430 pound-feet at 3600 rpm–to cover the spread. Topped by a four-barrel carburetor and exhaling through a short, gurgling dual-exhaust system, the 390 rated at 340 horsepower at 5100 revs–at least the equal, and perhaps then some, of the 310-horsepower 351 Cleveland V-8 in the Pantera.

Weight for the belt-buckle-high AMX/3 was quoted at around 3100 pounds, but it’s likely the handbuilt prototypes weighed more like 3500. AMC engaged BMW to help with production development, thinking the challenging roads and high-speed autobahns of Europe would be the right environment for the job. The company hoped to build and sell three cars a month–each at a heady price of $10,000–to test the car’s viability in the market. Production tooling was designed, orders were placed for outside “buy parts,” and the AMX/3 was unveiled to the public in April 1970–just one day in advance of the Pantera. It’s ironic that the original press release was dated 4/1/70–April Fool’s Day–as the AMX/3’s future already had begun to unravel.

Numerous factors conspired to keep the AMX/3 from making it to AMC showrooms. A massive union strike brought the company to its financial knees and rendered several special projects–like a low-volume supercar–irrelevant. And further number crunching revealed AMC would have to charge at least $12,000 for the car–about 20 percent more than Ford was asking for the De Tomaso.

Teague told Bob Stevens in an interview for Muscle Cars of the ’60s and ’70s, that “…the program was done on a shoestring, and we were on the verge of entering a new era. The musclecar period was ending, and industry priorities were starting to change.” Safety bumpers, catalytic converters, fuel economy, emissions, gas-shortage hoaxes–you know the rest.

The project was shuttered before the end of 1970. Four of the six prototypes were allowed to slip into private hands. A seventh–reportedly built from spare parts and mildly restyled in the rear–remained in Italy. Two remained at AMC’s headquarters and were left outside to wage a losing battle with the harsh Michigan winters. The AMX/3’s day was done, before it ever had the chance to strut its considerable stuff.

Sliding into the AMX/3’s black vinyl seat is a familiar act; not so different from entering the Pantera I owned for so many years. The AMX/3’s wheelhouses intrude into the footwell, and it’s lucky I’m only 5 feet 10, as there isn’t much headroom for more. The gauges in this prototype are standard-issue Stewart Warners, though some of the others had AMC pieces. Forward visibility is good, but the low, front sheetmetal is nowhere to be seen. The view aft isn’t bad for a mid-engine car, and the rear side windows minimize what would otherwise be a horrific blind spot.

Next to me sits Jeff Teague, Dick’s youngest son, himself an automotive designer for more than 25 years, having done stints with Ford and VW before forming his own consultancy. He also launched the growing transportation design program at Academy of Art University in San Francisco.

“Wow!” exclaims Teague, as the 390 belches awake and thrums through its short exhaust system. “I haven’t heard it run in 15 years. The last time I drove it was just prior to my dad passing away in 1991.” It was one of Teague-the-elder’s last wishes of his son: “Take the AMX/3 out, and give it a good run.”

“Dad got tired of seeing those two cars–one silver, one silver blue–rotting away outside the AMC offices and asked company CEO Jerry Myers what could be done.” This was in 1980. Myers suggested crushing them.

“No way my father would let that happen, so Myers asked Dad if he wanted to buy them. He did, of course, even though they’d deteriorated over the previous decade. We also got hold of a couple dozen unused transaxles.”

Dick Teague felt the cars looked best in primary colors; the silver car was repainted yellow during its restoration, the light blue one redone in red, as seen here. The AMX/3’s media reveal took place in Rome, Italy, with one of the prototypes photographed in front of the Coliseum. It’s in recognition of the car’s dual citizenship that we also chose to photograph the car at the Coliseum–this time, the one in Los Angeles.

Teague sold the yellow car in the mid-1980s, but owned this one until the time of his passing. It spent the ensuing 15 years in a museum before Jeff extricated it and sent it to his pal, movie-car/custom-bike inventor Eddie Paul, to get it running and freshen it up for our drive. I’m not sure if Teague or I was more nervous, as I pulled the ungated shifter into reverse and put the AMX/3 back on the road for the first time since the elder George Bush was in office.

The driving experience proves surprisingly close to my own Pantera’s. Clutch takeup is smooth, and the lightly weighted, manual steering offers good feel and quick turn-in by the standards of the day. The shifter is nowhere near as good as the Pantera’s, however (Jeff says his father pushed for a gated unit with a shorter stick). The interior is filled with garden-variety AMC bits (switchgear, door locks, A/C unit), which does little to support an upscale image, but it saved money and added to the AMX/3’s brand legitimacy. Who knows how much of it would’ve remained in a production model anyway. We don’t push the car hard into any corners, but it feels like it wants to handle, with commendably little body roll and the transitional stability that comes with a low center of gravity.

Power? No problem. Reports quoted a 0-to-60 time of 5.5 seconds, the quarter mile at 13.5, and a verified top speed of near 160. Believable numbers, although it must’ve been downright scary near that limit, since the nose, which hadn’t been tested in a wind tunnel, creates serious front-end lift. Early Panteras suffered the same malady. Like any good Yankee V-8, the AMX/3 390’s forte is effortless torque and a beautiful noise. It’s doubtful being short one gear to the Pantera and Lamborghini created any serious disadvantage.

Most impressive is the body structure, realizing of course that it was handbuilt at considerable expense. It feels tighter and stiffer than the De Tomaso’s. There are few creaks and groans–not often the case in production cars of the era, rarer still in a prototype–and the ride quality proves smooth and supple for an exotic sports car. Bizzarrini and those Bavarian test drivers knew their stuff, although considerable production development went undone when the project was cancelled.

Lamborghini’s Miura begat the Countach, Diablo, Murcielago, and Gallardo. Ferrari finally came to the mid-engine party with the Dino, Boxer, and others. The Pantera lived in series and limited handbuilt production for 25 model years. Chevrolet continued rolling out concepts for another two decades, although the promise of a mid-engine Corvette so far remains a hollow one. All six original AMX/3 prototypes still exist.

The AMX/3 was the absolute right thing at the absolute wrong time for American Motors. The Teague family’s example stands as a tribute to its patriarch; a dazzling reminder of what might’ve been. And, no, it’s not for sale.

I couldn’t have had a better teacher. Dick Teague, my father, is one of a few who become an icon in the business of designing cars. He was passionate, indeed obsessed, with the automobile and was a walking dictionary of its industry and history.

He grew up in Los Angeles. To this day, I don’t really know how or why he became an automotive designer, because his earliest experiences with cars were tough ones. At five years old, he got his first flying lesson–through the windshield of a Ford–which cost him his right eye. About two years later, his dad was killed by a drunk driver on Christmas Eve.

During WWII, Dick wasn’t eligible for military service because of his eye, so he served our country by designing aircraft for Hughes and Northrop Aircraft Industries, where he also received technical and mechanical training. He studied at Art Center College of Design at night, and his love for the automobile grew stronger. After the war, he began his design career with GM. He left to work at Packard, then did a brief stint at Chrysler. He finally landed a design “Chief” position with American Motors Corporation.

To me, he was Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. During the day, he was the Good Doctor, always trying to save American Motors with a defibrillator. At night, he was Mr. Hyde. He’d come home, have a quick dinner, then get on the phone in search of antique cars or parts. Then he’d hide in the garage until around 11:00 p.m., working on his many classic cars. He spent a lot of time doing that–maybe Dr. Hide is more accurate.

Dick deployed his magnetic personality convincing AMC’s CEO the company can make a difference with design. Working with the team that put together its proposal, with so little budget, for what became the AMX/3 proved among his best of times. The job was done in secret, in the company basement–Dr. Hide indeed.

It’s a misfortune that AMC never had the resources to produce the AMX/3. I’ve always wondered “what would the next generation look like?” if AMC could’ve continued the AMX program. So, here’s my personal inspiration on what would be today’s AMX/4. This one’s for my best friend; for you, Dad.

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